Through the Eyes of Hell's Daughter
by Silly Sentry
Summary: Azazel's daughter, revenge seeker, Lucifer loyalist, survivalist, and an army of one. A demon driven by loyalty and by love. This is the story of Supernatural, told through Meg's perspective. Meg-centric, follows her story from seasons one to eight. Contains topics that may be triggering. (Violence, gore, references of sexual assault.)
1. Scarecrow

For being a mere black-eyed demon, she was long known in Hell for her excellent torture capabilities. She had a certain gift for it, it seemed, and ever since succumbing to corruption, she'd succeeded in every way, knowing how to inflict the right - the _worst_ - kind of pain upon her victims. With every precise movement, she could break them slowly, churning their insides, making blood pool, and all in such a terrible, _beautiful_ manner. Rumors among the deviant children of Hell spread quickly, traveling like cataclysmic storms, and it was not long before she was noticed by a particular demon. With a life of humanity and purity far behind her and all but memorable, she followed this demon - Azazel, he was called - and very soon swore loyalty to him.

Azazel was widely recognized, and followed by many others. It only made sense; his piercing golden eyes and towering dusky form were admirable by even the other high-ranked demons. He instilled fear in the hearts of the humans who knew him, provoking nightmares and bone-chilling bedtime stories. Many a demon revered him as a king, a ruler, a _leader_, and for good reason. Yet, when Azazel looked upon the young black-eyed one, he did so with a certain respect that no other demons showed her. He grew to consider her his daughter, and she unquestionably considered him her father. From this, a familial relationship was born.

Anyone who doubted a demon's ability to feel love had yet to see her dedication. She would kill for him, torture for him, commit the most destructive and vile acts in the name of Azazel. In return, he praised her, treated her well, and spared her life, as any good father would. He taught her of Lucifer, the father of all demons, and how Lucifer was imprisoned. Being so close to the Archangel, and being his closest confidante, Azazel even took his daughter to visit Lucifer's crypts.

It was no wonder the demoness followed him when he took on his _Special Children_ plans. He planned to free Lucifer from his supposedly eternal cage, but not before finding the right child to do so. This child would be destined to not only break the 66 Seals and release the Archangel, but also to contain him as a vessel. Different followers of Azazel were assigned to watch over and observe different children, to guide them toward their path. She was sent to observe a young man by the name of Sam Winchester, who'd gathered special interest among Azazel and his followers.

She was a young, blonde college girl, the vessel that Azazel's daughter chose. Growing up in Andover, Massachusetts, Meg Masters was both an older sister and the offspring of an overbearing family. Her low confidence in multiple areas made her a perfect target for the demon, and she was glad to claim the girl as her own, ignoring the screams of protest that echoed in her head as she went about with sacrificing people. It was no big deal - why would a demon care about human moral values? What mattered far more than that was her goal in the long run, which involved Sam Winchester.

The heavy metal blaring from her earbuds didn't do a single thing to distract her from the approaching presence. Just as could be expected, Sam was hitchhiking, wandering down the side of the road on a dreary day when he found her. Even though the presence was already detected, she jumped at the hand on her shoulder, letting out a gasp as she stood from the ground, spinning to face the man.

"You scared the Hell out of me." She removed her headphones as she took in his appearance. Tall, that was for certain. A cute hairstyle, layers of clothes, and his hand in a defensive splay toward her direction, looking all _benevolent_.

"I'm sorry," he replied carefully, motioning toward the bags and luggage she carried, "I- I just thought you might need some help."

She gave a dismissive shake of her head as she wrapped up the cord of her music player, "I'm good, thanks."

He was awfully _friendly_ for a complete stranger, she'd give him that. 'Wasn't short on cuteness, either. How lucky was she to end up with him? He sure would be a _fun_ kid to bring over to the dark side.

With an adjustment of his own bag, Sam spoke again, "Uh, so, where are you headed?"

"No offense, but no way I'm telling _you_." Her response was accompanied by a teasing grin.

"Why not?"

"You could be some kind of freak," she tilted her head, eyes fixated on the other, "I mean, you _are_ hitchhiking."

A chuckle escaped Sam's lips, "Well, so are you."

The demon giggled, that amiable exterior of her not leaving for a second. If she wanted to get this guy's attention, she was going to have to act _ridiculously human_. What a task that was.

Fortunately, she was a _great_ actress.

The honking of a nearby horn could be heard, and when the two turned to face the source, a dirty white van could be seen driving their way. Right before them, the vehicle pulled over to reveal its driver, a middle-aged, greasy-looking man with a rather _scummy_ air to him. What would his blood look like when it was pouring from his sliced-open throat? The blonde couldn't help but anticipate that sight.

"Need a ride?" the van driver called out, and though his gaze focused on the demon, the tall, puppylike fellow next to her responded simultaneously as she did.

The two hitchhikers spoke in unison, "Yeah."

"Just her," the driver leaned over, his eyes practically glued to the woman, "I ain't taken' you."

Never the matter. Glad to lean over and grab her bags, she swung open the van door and hopped inside. It was after she did this that she shot a look toward Sam, who protested,

"You trust _shady van guy_, and not me?"

The feminine hitchhiker couldn't help but grin innocently, "_Definitely_."

Just like that, her _new plaything_ was left in the dust and exhaust of the shabby old van.

Now, to be perfectly honest, pretending to be human was _not_ her favorite thing. The demon remembered little bits and pieces of her long ago human life, even thought it was likely over a millennia ago, but it was in no way similar to this. She was _far_ from being human, let alone a sweet college girl. Still, it was for Azazel, and it was for Lucifer, and she would not dare betray their trust in her. To do so would not only be against their rules, but her own personal mentality. A good follower didn't betray her masters, no matter how much she didn't care for feigning _normal human_ behavior.

Faking it in front of _this_ guy was another story, however. The man who'd picked her up kept spitting out gross attempts at flirtation, reaching over to stroke her hair, going _way_ overboard about how much a _pretty little lady_ she was. This dude had no boundaries, and it was at the point when he decided to slide his hand down her thigh that she made him pull the van over, ultimately dropping the _normal human_ act.

She'd been touched in the wrong places before - it was nothing out of the ordinary for demons to use that in torture - but it wasn't something she tolerated. Even something as minor as this made her impatient, and she didn't have a single problem with watching him die, that _all too familiar_ crimson hue spilling from this throat within moments. It didn't bother the demoness; she needed to call her father with that blood, and _shady van guy_ wasn't ever part of the big picture.

Luckily for her, she wasn't too far away from a bus stop, which was, incidentally, her next destination. Reaching the building didn't take long, and she walked in without a single worry, plunking her host body down to the floor.

Just as she expected, that _was_ the direction _tall, dewy-eyed and handsome_ Sam Winchester was heading. It was barely fifteen minutes before he waltzed in, heading toward the front desk.

"Sorry, the Sacramento bus doesn't run again 'till tomorrow," the woman working at the desk had a bored tone to her voice, "5:05 PM."

Sam's tone was that of disbelief, "Tomorrow? There's got to be another way."

There was something amusing about the desk lady's lack of enthusiasm, though the demon remained silent to listen to their conversation, "Well, there is. _Buy a car_."

Oh, _perfect_. This meant they'd that she'd have more time to keep her _little black eyes_ on him. That enthusiasm was clearly lacking on Sam's behalf when he turned around, discontentedly fidgeting with his cell phone. A wonderful time to interrupt him, as far as the blonde was concerned, and so she did,

"Hey."

Her position on the floor was all very relaxed and casual-looking, her only items right under her, cushioning her lovely meatsuit from the cold floor. Legs folded and a falsely cheerful look on her face, it was all that Sam needed to respond. He quickly put away his phone, returning the greeting, "Hey."

She twirled her hand in his direction, "You again."

"What happened to your ride?" Sam directed a confused look toward her.

"You were right," the blonde replied, looking up at the other, "That guy _was_ shady. He was _all hands_."

He raised an eyebrow at her. It wasn't as if she was lying there. That driver did indeed turn out to be a _gross_ guy, and he evidently got what was coming to him. Her next statement was a humorous reference that, "I cut him loose."

Sam's response was a rather dejected sigh and a glance toward the other departing _bus riders_.

Still in her relaxed position, the demon let out some curiosity, and perhaps a little _false sympathy_, "What's the matter?"

"Just… trying to get to California."

"No way."

"…Yeah."

Her legs unfolded, standing from her assorted bags, "Me too."

She strutted toward Sam's direction, an inviting smirk creeping onto her features. Her composure was evidently a little bit flirtatious when she continued, "You know, the next bus isn't until tomorrow."

Sam gave an uncomfortable grin in response, "Yeah - yeah, that's the problem."

Eyelashes fluttered up at the other, "Why? What's in Cali that's so important?"

"Just something I've been looking for for a long time."

_His father, of course_. That one's obvious, but it's exactly where he needs to be. Reunited with _daddy dearest_, of course, which would all bring things together. The sooner Azazel and his loyalists could get a hold of John Winchester, the better.

"Well, then I'm sure it can wait one more day, right?" another grin follows.

The man gave a chuckle, and this was when she promptly introduced herself, gladly giving away her meatsuit's name with an extend of her hand, "I'm Meg."

"Sam."

It wouldn't be the first time she's used her host body's name. In fact, it was the route she usually took when possessing a new body; aliases were always the best way to go about. Revealing her true name could be considered a weakness, and so it went unspoken. Besides, _Meg_ was a cute name, and she very much liked it.

After a while of harmless chitchatting, and perhaps a little flirting on Meg's side, Sam offered to buy her a drink. Gladly, she accepted, and they soon sat down for conversation. Getting to know the enemy _was_ the best way to exploit them, after all. The more she could learn about this _demon-blood carrying son_, the better, and Sam did a good job at telling her about his brother that he road-trips with.

More chit-chatting took place, and once the table's covered with a good number of empty beer bottles, the younger Winchester asks, "So, what, are you on some kind of vacation, or something?"

Her response was sarcastic, and she let out a chuckle as she spoke, "Yeah, _right_. It's all sipping Cristal poolside for me."

A laugh's shared between them, and Meg reiterates on a more _realistic-sounding_ note, "No. I had to… get away from my family."

"Why?"

"I love my parents, and they wanted what's best for me. They just didn't care if _I_ wanted it."

Oh, she was _totally_ tugging at Sam's heart strings with the concoction of a story she'd whipped up. It was almost amusing how much he believed it - that _relatable, human-sounding_ talk of hers. Meg payed very close attention to this, storing that for later. Sam was _sympathetic_.

"I was supposed to be smart," she continued, "but not smart enough to scare away a husband."

That elicited a smile from Sam. Good - building trust was a key part of this whole act. Feelings were so much easier to manipulate once one stole another's trust.

"Well, it's just…" she trailed off, "Because my family _said so_, I'm supposed to sit there and do what I was told. So, I just went on my own way, instead."

Did her story hold any truth to it? Not entirely. Though some of it was perhaps, in a _very vague way_, her own, most of it was stolen from her current body's memories. It's not like telling the dude about Hell would be in any way relatable.

Sam blinked at her, gazing upon her with so much _acknowledgement_, which lead a sigh to come from her pretty little meatsuit's lips, "I'm sorry. The things you say to people you hardly know."

"No. No, it's okay," the darker-haired one shook his head, "I know how you feel."

_Aw_. So _emotional_. Like a delicate baby deer.

"Remember that brother I mentioned before, that I was road-tripping with?"

Meg gave a silent nod.

"It's, uh, it's kind of the same deal."

The most _gentle, understanding_ tone she can possibly manage escapes the demon, "And, that's why you're not riding with him anymore?"

Sam nodded, lips pressed together in a fine line and a look in his eyes that seems as if he might shed a tear or two. To avoid too many _mushy feelings_, Meg quickly raised her half-emptied bottle to a toast, "Here's to us. The food might be bad, and the beds might be hard, but at least we're living our own lives, and nobody else's."

With that, a toast was made.

Afterward, she settled down for a nap - not a nap by mortal standards, of course, as demons didn't need a wink of sleep, but it made for a good excuse to eavesdrop. Leaning against the luggage, she listened carefully to Sam's conversation with his brother.

"The scarecrow climbed off its cross?" Sam's voice was filled with disbelief, "It didn't kill the couple, did it?"

Demons have been known for their heightened senses, and Meg was no exception. Just as she could hear Sam speaking, she was able to hear _mister Dean_, as well.

"I can't cope without you, you know," Dean's response could be heard from the other end.

"So, something must be animating it - a spirit."

"No, it's more than a spirit. It's a god - a pagan god, anyway."

The two chatted for a good while, though most of it seemed irrelevant to anything that Meg cared about. It was all about the hunting case they'd taken on, about some _ pagan scarecrow god_ that ate people. Nothing too remarkable.

"You know, if you're hinting you need my help, just ask."

On went some apologies, some emotional, _brotherly_-type conversation. Dean spoke about letting Sam do what he wanted to do, mentioned their father once or twice, et cetera. If she could've _actually_ slept, she would _totally_ be doing so, by now. Mortals had so much sentiment.

"Call me when you find dad."

"Okay. Bye, Dean."

With that, their conversation came to an end. It was after their call that Meg stirred from her little pretend nap, standing up with little effort and picking up her bag. "Who was that?"

Fidgeting with her bag, she looked over to Sam when he responded, "My brother."

"What did he say? Meg asked, softly.

The other directed a disheartened glance toward her, his dewy eyes nothing short of _sensitive and hurt_, "Goodbye."

Her and Sam spent the rest of their time together waiting for the bus, having some friendly conversation, all that was necessary to lead him right into danger's gaping maw. She had to admit that she could tolerate him, to an extent - he was polite and appeared to genuinely care about everything. It was a shame that this wouldn't last for very long. _Oh, well. Not a big deal;_ her feelings toward him were nothing but a falsified, sweetened lure.

Eventually, that very bus to California arrived.

"Hey, our bus came in." Meg announced as she gathered her backpack, straightening it upon her back.

Just as she did so, Sam hung up his cellphone, very focused on the contraption. He let out a sigh, "You better catch it. I gotta go."

Quickly, the younger Winchester put away his phone, standing from his place, all very hurriedly. Meg directed a curious curious glance in his direction.

"Go where?" she asked.

He tossed his own bags over his shoulder, "Burkitsville."

The blonde had to catch up with him, picking up her pace to get closer. She frowned, "Sam, wait."

"I've been trying to call my brother for the last three hours. I'm just getting his voice mail."

"Maybe his phone's turned off."

"No," Sam shook his head, "It's not like that."

_Damn it_. She was losing him quicker than expected. That was no good - he wasn't supposed to be _running back to Dean_. That would screw with the whole plan!

The hunter nervously glanced in the opposite direction, "Meg, I think he might be in trouble."

"What kind of trouble?"

"I can't really explain right now. I'm sorry. Look, I don't want you to miss your bus."

"But, I don't understand. You're running back to your brother? The guy you ran away from? Why, because he won't pick up his phone?"

His silence lead her to tilt her head, brown eyes taking on a concerned and compassionate look, as if she was begging, "Sam… Come - with me, to California."

"I can't. I'm sorry."

"Why not?" her voice was now hushed, taking a hurt-sounding tone to it.

"He's my family."

That was all Sam said before turning away, walking out of the bus station. Meg stood alone now, watching as he left. Had she dictated this mission herself, she would've gladly stopped him from leaving. However, it was Azazel's orders to let him leave, and she did as told. He knew what was best, after all, and she was willing to follow his lead, even if it meant pretending to be some gentle college girl who _cared_ about people.

The rest of that day was spent hitchhiking once again, waiting for someone to pick her up, like a predator waiting for its prey. Wearing the body of a cute girl had its perks, something she'd learned long ago when taking her first host body. Who could possibly be more disarming than _Meg Masters, the tweny-or-so year old damsel_? The _skeevy van drivers_ sure lusted for her body, as another was quick to pull over and offer her a ride. She gladly got in, and spent enough time riding with him until they were out of any public sight.

"So, where to, pretty lady?"

The demon appeared unfazed, looking directly ahead on the road, though a suggestive smile soon creeped onto her features, "How about you pull over."

More than willing, the driver gave a suggestive, irksome glance in return, "Okay. That works."

Of course, the driver had no trouble pulling his ridiculously-decorated vehicle over. There was very little hesitation when the blonde removed the goblet from her bag, an object that many of her kind used to communicate with one another. The cup-like item, adorned with recognizable faces from Hell, was something that did throw the driver off.

"What's that?" the scruffy man asked, his simple human brain clearly confused by such _sorcery_.

"I've got to make a call," she replied softly, reaching into the goblet.

"I got a cell phone you can use."

A blade was removed from her Hellish container, arm quickly swiping over to the man's throat, blood quick to flow from the sudden wound. The driver gasped for breath, something that the demon ignored as she reached over, letting the brilliant red liquid spill into the goblet.

"Thanks for the ride."

Pushing his unsophisticated, bleeding out body aside, her focus returned to the call she was making. With an incantation uttered, she slowly stirred the blood with her finger, the blood bubbling and churning, the voice of Azazel perceivable only to her.

"It makes no sense - I could've stopped Sam. Hell, I could've taken them both. Why let them go?"

She paused, listening to the higher demon's response, and he did explain, though more so he told her to be patient - to wait, as all would make sense in due time. Who was she to question his authority, to question the way he went about with it all? Her trust was placed in Azazel, and she let him know so.

"Yes."

Another pause.

"-Yes. Yes, father."


	2. Shadow

Daeva.

Among the oldest of the demons, they were ancient beings that resided in the darkest pits of Hell. Their ages, while not definitely measured, spanned thousands of years before man kept track of dates. So filled with nothing but rage and crookedness, they were considered savages by many inhabitants, their aggressive nature akin to that of Hellhounds. Aged and decaying their forms were, their smoggiest existence unknown to mortal eyes, only visible as shadows to those who could not perceive their true visage.

Discreet. Silent. Agile. Daevas were the perfect weapon, the perfect lure.

They were just what was needed.

Plans to lead Sam Winchester toward his father had evidently failed. After the tall, awkward young man made amends with his brother, he was compelled to reunite with the sibling he argued with not so long ago. Not only did this throw Azazel and his dearest daughter off course, but it made the task of retrieving the Winchesters' father all the more difficult. It meant having to rearrange plans, which meant that Meg had to brush up on her Daeva-summoning skills.

Though she wasn't a witch, she was very refined in the art of dark magic. She'd been privileged to learn it in Hell, thanks to the assistance of Azazel and a few other likeminded members of their kind. Such knowledge did indeed help the demon, not only by magical abilities but by boosting her own power altogether.

The first step was to lure victims into inevitable traps - to take random schmucks from the street and turn them into piles of blood and viscera. The victims' deaths were to be gruesome, unsolvable by even the best crime scene investigators. Such demises would indubitably catch the attention of a certain hunter.

Now, bizarre and uncanny deaths could've drawn _any_ hunter to the scene. As Azazel was, Meg was also very well aware of that. This was the exact reason why Lawrence-born citizens of Chicago were selected as bait. How could John Winchester resist such a treat?

The first to go was Ben Swardstrom. He was an old banker, not overly interesting in any way. What really mattered was his hometown, and the fact that he wasn't breathing after the demons got a hold of him.

A lively young brunette was the next to kill in a two-month span. Going by the name of Meredith, she was just about as normal and human as one could get; waiting tables at a bar, having decent relationships with everybody, spending time with friends - really, she wasted her time on everything the average mortal would. She hadn't a single enemy, nor had she _anyone_ who would have anything against her.

So, of course, no one expected anything when she ran back to her apartment, fearfully arming an alarm system that would do no good. The Daevas, the _sneaky, sneaky Daevas_, did as told, and they did so with ease as they tore little Meredith into gory shreds.

Having a glimpse of free time herself, Meg's next destination was that same local bar. It was there that she drank, conversing with the fellow bar patrons, some demonic and others not so much. Contrary to what many may have believed, demons weren't _just_ made of cruelty - they had likes and dislikes too, and this particular demon just happened to _love_ drinking. This was a night to celebrate a far more wicked plot than the last, after all.

Everything was working out fine and dandy until someone touched her shoulder, this time far less anticipated than the last. There was no staged startle this time around, though the demon did glance backward, just in time to be met with that familiar face.

"Meg."

_Sam_. What the hell was he doing here? He wasn't supposed to walk in on everything so _soon_. Of course, the blonde hadn't a single intention to drop that friendly facade of hers, a grin quick to show up on her face, "Sam! Is that you? Oh my gosh!"

Slender, feminine arms wrapped around the man's larger form, pulling him into an embrace. When she let go, the demon let out a cheery sigh, "What are you doing here?"

"I'm just in town," Sam smiled at her, his voice having audibly surprised tones, "visiting friends."

Oh, damn it. That bait wasn't supposed to be for _him_. She'd reeled in the wrong Winchester. Meg gave a glance around the bar to locate any of those friends of his, only to find nothing, "Where are they?"

"Well, they're not here right now, but what about you, Meg? I thought you were going to California."

As Sam spoke, another man walked in to snoop on their conversation. Meg ignored him and continued, "Oh, I _did_. I came. I saw. I conquered," Meg answered, hands fluttering about in gesture, "Oh, and I met _what's his name_ - something Michael Murray - at a bar."

"Who?"

"It doesn't matter. Anyway, the whole scene got old, so I'm living here for a while."

Continuing to eavesdrop, Dean cleared his throat. Sam looked confused, "You're from Chicago?"

"No, Massachusetts - Andover." Meg's gaze remained on Sam, another smile showing up her face, "Gosh, Sam. What are the odds we'd run into each other?"

"Yeah, I know. I - I thought I'd never see you again."

"Well, I'm glad you were wrong."

Loud and intrusive, Dean once again cleared his throat.

"_Dude_," Meg shot a look at him, "Cover your mouth."

Sam glanced back to his older brother, "Yeah, I'm sorry, Meg. This is, um - this is my brother, Dean."

Meg eyed Dean, a feigned surprise look on her face as she motioned toward him, "This is Dean?"

"Yeah," Sam nodded.

Dean gave a grin at her, "So, you've heard of me?"

"Oh, _yeah_. I've heard of you. _Nice_ - the way you treat your brother like luggage."

The older Winchester's response was fairly uncomfortable, "Sorry?"

"Why don't you let him do what he wants to do? Stop dragging him all over God's green Earth."

The shorter man frowned, and Sam interjected, "Meg, it's all right."

Already after meeting him, she could tell that she wouldn't be a big fan of this guy. That cocky attitude of his didn't go unnoticed.

Dean whistled, "Okay. _Awkward_." With an uneasy chuckle, he turned away, though not after giving Sam a sideways glance, "I'm gonna get a drink now."

"Sam, I'm sorry," Meg said, "It's just, the way you told me he treats you - if it were me, I'd kill him."

Actually, she'd _probably_ be killing him soon, either way. So, that was _funny_.

"It's all right," Sam spoke gently, "He means well."

With a subject change, Meg eyed him a little more flirtatiously, "We should hook up while you're in town."

"Yeah!"

"I could show you a hell of a time," Meg drawled seductively.

"You know what, that sounds great. Why don't you, uh - why don''t you give me your number?"

Meg told him his number, "Ah, _312-555-0143_."

"You know what? I never got your last name."

"_Masters_."

"Masers?" Sam asked.

"So, you'd better call."

Sam looked rather eager, "Scouts honor."

The demon fluttered her meatsuit's eyelashes at the man, "I hope to see you around, Sam."

It was then that they parted ways.

_Goddamn it_. That wasn't at all what Meg prepared for; Sam and Dean weren't supposed to be in Chicago. Not so soon, at least - their father was the real target here. What was Azazel going to when he found out? What would he do to her? The mere thought of being punished put the little demoness on edge. Even so, she couldn't simply hide the fact that the Winchesters were there. She needed to inform her father.

Before doing so, however, she did make her way into that apartment of hers. She'd taken the living space weeks ago, around the same time that she'd taken the _previous _owners' lives. Though sleeping and _living in one place_ wasn't necessary, she found it to be a good place to hole up and store the few belongings she owned.

After making her way back into the quaint little apartment, she switched on the lights, removing all clothing but her undergarments. All the while, she felt eyes on her, though she continued to tend to her own business, putting on a clean shirt. While doing so, she managed to sneak a peak out of the window, only to find the youngest Winchester parked nearby. What a _kinky_ guy he was; she'd have to keep in mind that he was _all for watching_.

Anyhow. _Back to contacting Azazel_.

Fully clothed and ready to take part in some blood rituals, the demon made her way out of the apartment. The rain fell gently onto her host body, though getting a little wet was hardly her concern. With a quick check to make sure no one was nearby - no oncoming cars, no Winchesters - she crossed the street, approaching the nearby storage unit she'd reserved. The entrance, covered in graffiti and a _condemned_ sign, was the place she'd chosen as a sort of base camp. Being abandoned, it made a decent place to hold rituals; nobody would notice, nobody would care.

Approaching the altar she'd set up, the demon prepared her blood goblet, using the blood of a more recent kill. A finger dipped into the brilliant redness, a call went to her father.

Meg sighed apprehensively, "I don't think you should come. "

The higher-powered demon questioned her, questioned why she would say such a thing.

"Because, the brothers - they're in town. I didn't know that-" her voice was cut off by the other's response. Again, he reminded her to have patience, that he would be arriving soon. Above all, he told her to wait for him.

"Yes, sir - yes, I'll be here… waiting for you."

Carefully, the demoness blew out the candles at the altar, making her way out of the mannequin filled storage room. She had work to do, and if doing so involved capturing the Winchesters, then she'd have to set up a trap.

Now, just how easily could a couple of idiot brothers be captured? Ridiculously easily, apparently. Just as she was calling more daevas over to the storage unit, she heard those two climbing up the empty elevator shaft. How _dedicated_ they must've been to poking around in business that wasn't theirs.

Never the matter. She didn't bother acknowledging them until her summoning was complete. It was after said summoning that she spoke to the very obvious _mortal _presences in the room, "Guys. Hiding's a little bit childish, don't you think?"

Dean's hushed voice could be heard from behind her, "That didn't work out like I'd planned."

Meg slowly spun around to face the two anticipated intruders, "Why don't you come out?"

Oh, she smiled wickedly as she walked up to greet them, her true nature finally revealed, no longer masked by false friendliness. Her adversaries aimed shotguns at her, defensive, ready to fight an evidently one-sided fight.

"Sam," her attention focused on the taller one, the slyest grin creeping onto her features, "I have to say, this puts a real _crimp_ in our relationship."

All evidence of Sam's prior cheerfulness had left and his tone came out cold, _aggressive_, "Yeah, tell me about it."

"So," Dean started, "Where's your little daeva friend?

"Around," Meg answered playfully, "and that shotgun's not gonna do much good."

"Oh, don't worry, sweetheart. The shotgun's not for the demon."

Sam's voice was more expressive than Dean's (obviously forced) nonchalance, "So, who is it, Meg? Who's coming? Who are you waiting for?"

"_You_."

At her command, the daevas rose, their rotting, shadowy figures making themselves visible to even the two humans in the room. They hissed and growled, lunging at the brothers, hunting the hunters - at least, until unconsciousness set in. Then came the more exciting opportunity to hold hostage her little _guests_. She had to say, if Sam wasn't already attractive, the sight of a tied up Sam would be _more_ than enough to get her going. Meg waited, and when their consciousness returned, the demoness directed a smile toward her attractive captives.

Dean stirred, not long after waking up, "Hey, Sam, don't take this the wrong way, but your girlfriend… _is a bitch_."

He was one to talk, with that _bitchy face_ he was directing her way. Still, derogatory insults aside, the demon was amused by his frustration. She sure did _love_ having the upper hand.

"This, this whole thing was a trap," Sam said weakly, "Running into you at the bar, following you here, hearing what you had to say - it was all a setup, wasn't it?"

Meg giggled.

He kept his eyes peeled on her, "And that the victims were from Lawrence?"

"It doesn't mean anything," Meg replied quite innocently, "It was just to draw you in, that's all."

"You killed those two people for nothing."

Her giddy tone faded into something more somber, "Baby, I've killed a lot more for a lot less."

"You trapped us," Dean contributed, practically _spewing_ sarcasm, "Good for you. It's miller time. Why don't you kill us already?"

"Not very quick on the uptake, are we?" Meg leaned toward the older brother, "This trap isn't for you."

Dean looked bewildered, though it didn't take long for Sam to come to the conclusion, "_Dad_. It's a trap for dad."

The upturned corner of the captor's lips confirmed their suspicion.

"Oh, sweetheart, you're dumber than you look, 'cause even if dad was in town, which he is not, he wouldn't walk into something like this. He's too good."

"He _is_ pretty good. I'll give you that," Meg stood from her seat, walking to Dean and giving a him a little kick before she crouched next to him, "But, you see, he has one weakness."

Dean's eyebrows rose, "What's that?"

"_You_. He lets his guard down around his boys, lets his emotions cloud hid judgement. I happen to know that he _is_ in town, and he'll come, and try to save you, and then the daevas will kill everybody - nice, and slow, and _messy_."

"Well, I got news for ya'. It's gonna take a lot more than some… _shadow_ to kill him."

"Oh, the daevas are in the room here. They're invisible. Their _shadows_ are just the only part you can see."

"Why are you doing this, Meg?" Sam interrupted, "What kind of deal you got worked out here, huh? And, with who?"

Meg's response was irritant, showing no hesitation, "I'm doing this for the same reasons you do what you do - _loyalty, love_. Like the loyalty you had for mommy… _and Jess_."

Mocking tones aside, she parallels weren't entirely out of place; loyalty was a priority of hers, and she was more than willing to kill for the ones she loved. The Winchesters _had_ to understand that.

"Go to Hell."

"Baby, I'm already there."

Meg faced Sam now, crawling away from Dean, straight to the younger brother's lap, "Come on, Sam. There's no need to be nasty."

Lips drawing close to his ear, her voice was not above a sultry breath, "I think we _both_ know how you _really_ feel about me." She hovered over him, his face close to hers as she whispered to him, "You know, I saw you… watching me. Changing in my apartment. It turned you on, didn't it?"

Little attention was payed to Dean's irritated intrusion, "Get a room, you two."

"I don't mind," the demon continued, "I liked that you were watching me. Come on, Sammy, you and I can still have a little _dirty fun_." Even closer to Sam, she began to give provocative little nips at him, kissing his neck.

"You want to have fun? Go ahead, then," Sam said resistantly, "I'm a little tied up right now."

Grinning, Meg continued to give him her full attention, like the _aroused little demon_ she was. She continued to kiss him, grasping him as she straddled his muscular body. This went on until she heard the familiar click of a switchblade coming from Dean's direction, at which the demon halted. Sauntering away from Sam, she stole the older sibling's blade directly from his struggling hand. _Crafty little bustard_. The knife was tossed away to some unimportant distance, just before the demon swung around the pole Dean was tied to. She gave a little smile at him before rushing back to Sam.

"Now, were you just trying to distract me while your brother cuts free?"

"No - no. It was because I have a knife of my own."

He snapped out of the ropes that bound his hand, knocking his head against hers and sending an instant dull pain to her vessel's body. Stunned, she barely had enough time before the retaliation,

"Sam, get the altar!"

**_Crash!_**

The shrill sound of shattering glass followed. Just as she'd dreaded, the altar was destroyed, her control of the daevas no more. The vile, hideously ancient demons descended, gathering around her. They grabbed her body, wrathful screeches escaping them as they dragged her toward the window. Her screams meant nothing to the beastly things, and they promptly dragged her toward the window. Another crash preceded a plummet to the cold, hard ground. The world around her began to blur, darkness setting in.

Now, demons weren't so deterred by what humans called death. Immortality was already among each and every one of them, and means of killing a demon were all but conventional. Very little knew how to permanently erase a child of Hell from existence. Falling multiple stories was all but a permanent solution, in fact, and it wasn't very long before awareness of her situation returned to the loyal demoness. Glass shards around her, she stood from her supposed grave, the insides of her body torn and mangled, irreplaceably broken if not for the demon's infectious presence.

There were times when she could hear her original vessel's voice, actually. It was something all demons dealt with when they possessed living, responsive bodies. Miss Masters wasn't an exception, and it was about this time that she was begging to be put out of her misery, screaming and putting up a little fight of her own. The girl was awfully whiny, if she was being honest, though the demon didn't care too much. The life of a host body was of very little importance to her. What was far more important was that John Winchester's presence was nearby.

_It wasn't too late to see this through._

She kept a watchful eye on the family, though in a much more secretive way. Demons could be awfully discreet, after all, daevas or otherwise, and it would've been wise to confirm that John was with the boys. They had their _heart-to-heart_, all of the crap that human families usually went through with, and as they did so, she put full use the pendant around her neck. She could still control the daevas, as it happened, with the power of the charm she wore.

So, she did, and it was bloody, and violent, and the daevas found the Winchesters and began to attack. The feeling of revenge was always an exhilarating one, in her book, and knowing that her enemies were getting torn to pieces was more than enough to thrill the black-eyed demon. _This_ was the feeling she'd anticipated so much. No one fucked with her and lived to tell the tale. _No one._

…So, how the hell was it that they'd managed to escape the daevas' return? The moment she walked outside, she witness their vehicle rumbling away, that goddamned junker sliding right out of town.

**_Damn it!_** All of that hard work of hers, amounted to nothing. She couldn't steer Sam to California, and she couldn't even manage to capture the right Winchester, and when she did, he had an escape plan! How was she going to get that _demon blooded screwup_ over to the demons - how was she going to explain it all?

Chicago was no longer a priority of hers, as the trap had yet again failed. Meg hadn't intentions on remaining, and so she fled, gathering her belongings and heading for the road. This was all after she'd alerted the leader, of course.

"Father," she spoke into the goblet once again, fingers drenched in the rusty color, an unidentified yet fresh corpse nearby, "They've escaped. Again."

She was going to get back at them.

This wasn't over yet.


End file.
